A Worthy Risk
by Fonxudian
Summary: All change is bad? It's not true you know"
1. Good Coffee

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _House_, nor its characters.  
**Author's Note:** I never planned or thought of writing fanfiction--about anything, but after an idea came to me, I started writing and wasn't able to stop. :D  
Thanks to Georgina for suggesting I should write something, to Pandorashollow for all the "pushing" ;), and both of you for reading and motivating me to write. :)

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**Good Coffee**

Paperwork.

This was one of those aspects of being a doctor that Cameron did not dream about or even anticipate, and the one aspect that seemed to consume every hour of her working day, and in the case of today, "night—again", she thought as she glanced up at the clock on the dimly lit wall of her chart-littered office. A loud yawn and the stretching of her cramped arms up to the ceiling woke her to the realization that she had been reading the same sentence on a patient's chart for the last fifteen minutes. Her mind finally grasped what her eyes kept combing over. Rosa Mendez: six years old. Caught in a cross-fire between two gangs while playing in her front-yard. The bullet had passed through her left ventricle. Likely dead on the scene, she read as she reviewed the file and set it aside.

She tightly closed her eyes and pressed her knuckles to them. The unwelcome memory flooded her overtaxed senses. A frightened, sobbing man running into the ER, his sweaty desperate face and white t-shirt covered in his daughter's blood as he holds the limp figure in his arms, clearly unaware or in denial that his daughter is already long dead. Unfamiliar with the language or the country he had not known how to call the paramedics. He had run five miles to the hospital. Resuscitation would have been fruitless.

Cameron sighed as she opened her eyes and tried to shake the image from her mind. She pressed on her red eyes once again, and this time only saw chart after chart flashing through her mind. Exasperated, she laid her head on the cool surface of the desk and tried to wipe it of all thought. After her mind had drifted through a series on nonsensical images, it rested on another little girl, her bright eyes smiling up at her. It had been an almost undetectable blood-clot. They had given her another year to live. Then her mind drifted to a pensive, grumpy-looking man lurking in the shadows of his office bouncing an oversized tennis ball and looking intently at a white board, determined to solve the puzzle of the little girl's symptoms. After that, more piles of charts decided to invade her mind, and she opened her eyes in a tired half-smile.

She looked at the clock again. It was 1:15 AM. Another 15 minutes had gone by, and she was slowly losing her mind and getting nothing done in return.

Time for coffee.

She got up and tripped on a foot-long pile of charts, scattering them on the office floor. Being too tired to care she navigated her way around the other piles of papers and charts stacked on the floor and left her office.

Cameron's footsteps echoed lightly as she made her way down the dark, peacefully deserted hallway towards the elevator. At least she wasn't on call tonight, so the only patients she needed to see lay stocked in neat piles patiently awaiting her return. There was a coffee vending machine on the floor of the diagnostics department she remembered, as she pressed the button and watched the doors close.

A knot had formed in her stomach as she stared at that innocent number glowing in the dark. "Why did this keep happening?" she thought, as the elevator slowly rose to her desired destination. The doors opened and she walked out into the familiar, now darkened hall. As she made her way forward, she looked to her left at the deserted conference room, longing for a nice red mug full of some good coffee. Tonight she would have to settle for some second-rate machine coffee in a paper cup.

Her eyes tried to avert what she knew lay ahead, but a soft golden light caught their attention. There he was. She couldn't suppress a smile as she saw him sitting in his chair rubbing that ridiculous tennis ball between his hands; facing that symptom-filled white board. The image was almost identical to the memory that had invaded her mind a few minutes ago. Her eyes followed the light from the lamp until they rested on his pensive, absorbed face. It was during moments like this when she felt he would unknowingly open a window into the person she knew lay within.

The lack of the sound of footsteps startled her as she realized she had stopped. Pushing her line of thoughts aside, she continued to walk away, letting go of the breath she had been holding.

Back in her dark office, Cameron sat slowly working through her charts. The cup of now cold coffee stood on the edge of the desk, abandoned after a few unsatisfying sips. Yet again, she looked at the clock: 3:20AM. Pulling stray bangs back behind her ears, she bent over a chart and positioned her pen on the line reserved for signatures.

The door to her office flew open shooting light from a now lit hall into her eyes; startling her hand into making a heavy black line across the paper she was signing. There was no need to look up.

"What do you want, House?" she wearily asked.

"What!?" House exclaimed in a whining, unconvincingly innocent tone. "Believe me" he continued, "I've spent enough late nights here to know just where the medical waste from this hospital goes, and it's sitting on the edge of your desk" he said, nodding towards her abandoned cup of coffee. She looked up from her ruined chart to see House juggling two store bought coffees while staring with disgust at her own discarded one. One was clearly the largest size the store offered, while the other was clearly the opposite.

"Ok, give it back" she said in a bored voice planting her elbow on the surface of the desk and making a platform with the palm of her hand. "What!?" House identically exclaimed again. "It's a late night, the coffee is crap, give it back" she knowingly ordered as she brought her elbow closer towards him. He responded by rolling his eyes, smiling mischievously and putting the coffees down, took a wallet out of the pocket of his leather jacket and dropped it on her waiting hand. "Let this be a lesson for you:" House sarcastically lectured, "Don't leave your wallet laying around the vending machines unless you want some maniac stalker drooling over naked pictures of Chase." Cameron's lips upturned as she reached for the big coffee cup. Too late, House had anticipated her move and had quickly lifted the cup off the desk and above his head. Cameron grabbed the small one and took a sip. Now _this_ was good coffee.

While she turned her attention back to the charts, House busied himself walking around Cameron's office picking up pens and clicking them repeatedly, upturning books looking for loose papers to fall to the floor, and sniffing the sleeve of her lab coat hanging behind the door.

A sudden ceasing of his fidgeting prompted Cameron to look up. He was standing in the middle of the room staring fixedly at the floor, scratching the back of his head with an index finger. Cameron waited for him to speak.

Sensing the silence of her pen, House also looked up to find a waiting Cameron innocently sipping his big cup of coffee, the half-empty small one now standing on his side of the desk. House sat down in front of it, picking up his now doubly reduced portion.

"28-year-old male, was brought in after suffering a seizure." House said as he took a chart out from underneath his jacket and threw it across the desk to her. "Fever, weakness, vomiting, diarrhea, severe weight loss, back, stomach and leg pain, irritabi—" "well, autoimmune fits" Cameron interrupted. House smiled, "you pick your specialist, you pick your disease."

"Well, look here" she retorted showing him the chart. "it says there's hyperpigmentation on the skin covering her mouth and nose. That's a sign of Addison's, and the rest of the symptoms fit."

"Addison's!?" House exclaimed in mock astonishment. "Wow! You're good! I could have never thought of that! Especially since all the symptoms fit…boy, I wish I was a doctor too—" "I wasn't done you know" Cameron interrupted again, throwing his chart back across the desk; looking down and resuming the tedious task of reviewing and signing. "I'm assuming the first idea you jumped on was infection, seeing that's _your_ specialty. Obviously you would have thought of an Addisonian crisis brought on by an infection considering the patient came in having suffered a seizure probably caused by the temperature of 105. After the blood tests came back normal, and the MRI showed no damage to the adrenal gland, you probably thought to test for Celiac's. When the blood panel and biopsy came back normal, and you had sent your henchmen to test for all the usuals, you brooded in your office for a couple of hours, then went to get vending machine coffee and seeing my wallet there, you decided to really treat yourself, getting me an 6 ounce peace offering so you could burst into my office at 3AM and mock my ideas while making mental notes to write them down on your white board during tomorrow morning's differential." Cameron calmly finished, not looking up from her signing.

House leaned back in his chair with a smile and admired the woman in front of him. After a couple of silent minutes of drinking his small coffee, looking at her golden bangs dangling over her charts and at her pen weaving what he assumed to be loopy, girlish letters, he spoke again.

"Why are you here?" he seriously asked.

"I'm signing charts. Why are _you _here?" She avoided, not taking her eyes off the papers.

"The patient went into cardiac arrest at 10 PM tonight" House said, ignoring the true intent of her question. "We can't control his tachycardia and his liver has started to fail"

Cameron looked up. She took House's chart again and examined it.

As the hours discussing possible illnesses and theories passed, Cameron felt increasingly alert and awake. She hadn't experienced this sort of mental challenge in a really long time. There was something exciting about quickly having to summon up all of her medical knowledge. She had missed House's differentials where she would constantly be compelled to remember diseases and complications she hadn't read or thought about since medical school. Sometimes she would even recall trifles commented on in passing by her professors, or seemingly insignificant paragraphs in the back of immunology textbooks. Those sessions would open her eyes to the knowledge she didn't even know she had, while acquiring more. This last year her mind had been closed to dealing with hardly anything outside the realms of car crash victims, pneumonia, and bullet wounds.

House was feeling the sense of progress he had been trying to feel all night with this case. It was satisfying not having to explain any metaphors for once, or having to highlight the stupidity of comments. He was free to move as fast as his mind was willing to go.

The golden hints of dawn entered Cameron's office, shedding light on a theory-filled sheet of paper sitting between two exhausted, but satisfied doctors.

House wordlessly took his chart and piece of paper and headed towards the door. Resting his hand on the doorknob he looked back over his shoulder. Feeling his eyes on her Cameron looked up. For the first time that night, their eyes truly met. It seemed to her that for a split-second his look betrayed an almost imperceptible melancholy and longing. Quickly averting her searching eyes, House looked down at the now empty coffee cups still sitting on her desk.

"Good coffee huh?" He remarked as he closed the door behind him.


	2. Nothing There

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _House_, nor its characters.  
**Author's Note:** Thanks again Pandorashollow and Georgina for listening to my rants on symbolism ; )  
Also, my medical knowledge consists of watching Discovery Health and looking up random diseases on Web MD. So, don't look too hard ; )

* * *

**Nothing There**

House walked away from the hospital's pharmacy carrying a nice plump bag containing Vicodin-filled bottles. It was that time of year again. The secret stashes needed refilling. As he made his way back to his office, he noticed that even though it was the middle of the day nobody seemed to be walking around the hospital. Passing by the Clinic, he saw an oddly deserted nurses' station. No whining patients or crying babies waiting for their turn, and most importantly, no Cuddy. Going to the pharmacy always meant having to pass through the valley of fire and brimstone of stupid patients and annoying nurses, and coming before the judgement-seat as Cuddy told him just how many hours of clinic duty he had missed that week. Multiple secret stashes were essential for survival. But as those had also been running low lately, it had been a voyage he had been compelled to undertake; at least today it seemed he would make it back unscathed.

Walking into his office he turned the TV on to find that a new episode of _General Hospital_ was starting. He peeked into the conference room and saw that his team was also gone, probably diligently doing one of the many tests he had ordered for the patient. He sat down on his chair facing the TV, propped his legs up on the desk crossing them at the ankles and turned up the volume.

Diverting his attention for a second towards his desk, he realized there was a large plate barely able to contain a perfectly triangularly sliced Reuben. He stretched out his index finger and lightly poked it. It was cold. Maybe Kutner thought it was his birthday. He had lost track, who knows? Maybe it was. Without further hesitation House filled his mouth with one of the corners of the juicy, pickle-less sandwich. Needing a drink, he found a nice 32-ounce soda sweating big, icy condensation droplets sitting beside the plate. Turning back towards the TV he was pleasantly surprised to find that the nurses in the show were exposing a lot more cleavage than usual. He smiled mischievously through his mouthful of Reuben. Things were good.

A slight pain shot through his right thigh. He needed Vicodin. He decided to go ahead and finish his secret, secret, secret stash before moving on to his new bottles. Leaning over, he took out his Lupus textbook. Opening it he only found a bottle-shaped hollow. Throwing the book aside, he took out his Sarcoidosis text—nothing. Gingerly carrying his increasingly throbbing leg off the desk, he picked up his cane and limped around checking all of his other office hiding spots. After finding no bottles in the drawers of the desk, anatomical models, the cushions of his chair, or any stray pills in his blazer pockets, and making a mental note to burst into Cuddy's office as soon as he had the strength to walk there, he hobbled back to his desk and impatiently picked up the prescription bag.

Ripping it open he took out a bottle and struggled to unscrew it. Finally loosening the cap and letting it drop to the floor he tipped the bottle towards his hand only to discover that it was empty. Breathing fast and hard in anger and frustration he took out another bottle and shook it to make sure he could hear the little pills moving inside. He again struggled to open the bottle as his sweaty hands trembled with the struggle. Using all of his strength he popped the cap in a forceful move launching the contents of the bottle across the floor of his office. He attempted to bend down and pick up the pills, but his burning leg quickly gave way and he barely stopped his fall by gripping the edge of the desk. Panting from the rapidly increasing pain, he dropped the now empty bottle and massaging his thigh slowly stood up straight. He angrily tore the prescription bag in half letting the remaining bottles roll across his desk. He quickly grabbed the closest one. Wincing in agony and frustration he desperately tried to get this bottle open. His fingers couldn't focus, the pain was too intense. Dropping the bottle, he again tried to bend down and pick up one of the stray pills. The weight was too much for his leg. He collapsed unto the floor. Laying among the pills, and desperately grabbing one, he quickly turned on his back and popped it in his mouth. There was nothing there. His mouth was empty. He examined his hand front and back—nothing. Turning back on his stomach he struggled to find more pills through blinding pain. His hands frantically combed the carpet.

There was nothing there.

"House"

"House"

A very annoying whisper opened his eyes to the sight of the circular bottom of a red mug and Kutner's slightly worried and confused face. The true reason for his awakening was soon apparent as his leg gave an agonizing throb. He immediately dug his hand into his pocket, fingers closing around the cool plastic bottle. He quickly opened it and popped a pill in his mouth that mercifully, did not disappear. He looked down and saw he was sitting in his lounge chair. He examined his clothes. They were yesterday's. He must have fallen asleep here after his differential with Cameron. His leg hurt the way it only could when he missed a number of doses. Judging by the level of the pain now, he must have forgotten at least two of them last night.

A small shuffle turned his attention back to Kutner, standing over him somewhat unsure of what to do with himself; still holding out the red mug of coffee towards him. House's grumpy stare made him retreat slightly. House ignored the mug.

"I'm ok now, Mommy. I've got my blankie" he mocked as he rattled his Vicodin bottle at him and popped another pill.

"I just thought…you were—"

"I'm not the patient" House simply remarked.

He glared up at him, waiting.

"Uhh..." Kutner put down the mug and fumbled in a folder taking out last night's rounds of test results. House took and examined them, eyes narrowing more and more as he read. He struggled out of his chair, taking his cane and limping into the conference room.

Thirteen was already there. Foreman sat in a chair in the corner of the room, immersed in a newspaper. Both Kutner and Thirteen looked at him with a degree of uncertainty as he picked up a marker. Ignoring the disturbing idea of what they might have seen or heard as he slept, he faced the board, unfolded his paper from last night and started scribbling down theories.

"House—"Thirteen started.

"_I'm not the patient_" House emphasized, rolling his eyes.

"No—the patient..."

House turned around to find a newly arrived Taub holding an image up to the light around which 13 and Kutner had crowded around.

"I was getting another MRI" Taub spoke putting the image down, "His spleen is severely enlarged. I don't know how it…yesterday it was normal." He remarked, baffled. "At this rate we only have a couple of hours before it ruptures." He finished through a sigh, handing him the image.

House held it up to the light. The upper left corner of the abdomen showed a gigantic mass.

"We have to operate" He said plainly

"We can't" Kutner argued "The patient just had cardiac arrest last night. We had a hard time controlling his tachycardia. There's a good chance his heart won't—"

"If we don't remove the spleen he'll die anyway" Taub explained.

"We can't take a risk like this! We need to wait at least a couple of hours. Wait until his heart stabilizes" Thirteen disputed.

"We don't _have_ a couple of hours. If the spleen ruptures, like it could at any moment, the tachycardia will only get worse." Foreman put in as he folded the newspaper.

"We'll wait a couple of hours" House finally spoke, coming out of his thoughts "Then we do the surgery, no matter what condition his heart is in"

The new team shuffled and sighed in grave agreement. Foreman scoffed as he picked up his coffee mug.

"Ideas people" House loudly spoke, rapidly scribbling on the board, bringing the team out of their reverie. As he wrote, he glanced towards his right at the vacant desk in the corner of the room. How in the world had she known where his porn was? Did she…no, there was no way, although the idea made him smirk inwardly. What else did she know? He wondered as he remembered her knowing smile and raised eyebrow as she had sat in that chair, sharpening a pencil, butting into his case.

"umm, House?" Thirteen asked amused.

House looked back at the whiteboard to find that the word he had been scribbling had trailed off in a line towards the bottom corner of the board.

"You know better than to interrupt me during one of my many epiphanies" House covered "See? Now I've lost it. You have killed our patient." he commented covering the view of the line on the board with his body as he quickly erased it.

Taub loudly cleared his throat "Leukemia" he repeated. "Blood tests came back inconclusive. His lymph nodes were only slightly swollen. We need a biopsy"

"No biopsy" House said "We can't move or sedate the patient." He picked up the test results. "These were done yesterday. The spleen wasn't enlarged yesterday. Run them again."

As Taub started walking out of the room, everyone's pagers began to go off in quick succession. Kutner read his first. "There's a bruise on the upper-left quadrant of his abdomen"

"His spleen has ruptured" Thirteen realized, looking up from her pager to House for guidance.

"We need to remove it" House said as he started to walk out of the room.

"He won't consent" Taub stated

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"Yes, hard decision" House sarcastically said

"Hmm...I wonder if I should let the doctors stop my _massive internal bleeding_" he mocked as he made for the door.

"I worked to convince him for four hours just to do a liver biopsy" Taub explained.

"That's because you guys are useless at this" House said as he walked out the door of the conference room.

"Come up with more theories" he called from the hall. "Foreman, you're in charge"

"I'll be honored" Foreman sarcastically sighed to himself as he got up, putting down his coffee and picking up a marker.


	3. Fear

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _House_, nor its characters.**  
Author's Note:** Sorry for the big gap between chapters--RL has not been my friend lately. But we've already had 2 episodes with no glimpses of Cameron, so I thought if there was time to publish, it was now. ;-)  
Thanks again Pandorashollow and Georgina for being my confidantes ;-). Also, my medical and medical ethics knowledge consists of watching Discovery Health and looking up random diseases on Web MD. So, don't look too hard ;-)

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**Fear**

Consent form in hand, House limped towards the rapidly dying patient's room. They never knew what was best. Family was worse. Cuddy was worst. Thanks to these facts, he had acquired a stellar manipulative ability over the years when it came to such issues as informed consent. Of course, the word "informed" could be interpreted in many different ways.

He arrived outside the patient's room and stopped behind the glass wall, resting eyes on his four-day old case for the first time. Two nurses stood at the side of the bed quietly whispering and glancing at the pale, dark-haired patient stare fixedly ahead. After these few observant moments, House slid the door open and walked inside.

"Go" he told the two nurses in the room, motioning behind him with his cane. As the door slid shut, he hung his cane on the monitor and glanced at the screen. BP was dropping. Heart rate was 160. He reached out and slightly opened the patient's gown revealing his abdomen. The patient flinched. House looked down and saw the patient's white knuckled grip on the rail of the bed. Looking back up, he saw the small but growing purple bruise on the upper-left quadrant. There wasn't much time.

"You're dying" he dryly stated.

The patient took a forceful breath through his nose,

"No" he resolutely spoke, continuing to stare at the opposite wall.

"Ok…maybe you thought I was using a metaphor. _You're dying_" House emphasized.

"Then fix me! Figure out what's wrong with me. Give me… pills or something. Run more tests" the patient argued, a slight hint of desperation in his voice.

"Your spleen has ruptured. If we don't remove it you'll die."

"No I won't. I'll be fine. Just fix me" the patient dismissed as he continued to stare ahead.

"You're right...Maybe they didn't teach me that one in medical school: 'Stubborn pains in the ass don't die.' Good news for you _and _me"

He paused "Look, if you do the surgery, you might survive and I can keep working on your case. If you don't, it doesn't matter if I find the answer or not.

You'll die."

The patient's breathing slowly began to increase as he gripped the railing even harder and vainly looked around the room in alarm.

"I can't…no" He said, his terrified eyes looking up at House.

"Ok, what is it?" House asked

The patient's look turned to one of confusion.

"Your medical record shows you haven't been to the doctor in 11 years. It took my team four hours to get your consent for a liver biopsy."

"Pain" House concluded

The patient let out a deep breath as he turned away.

"You have Agliophobia. You fear pain. You'd rather die than experience pain from the surgery"

"If I die I won't feel anymore pain" the patient responded.

House's eyes turned back on him.

"Your death won't be painless"

"You said I was dying and I don't feel any pain"

"The only reason you feel no pain now is because we're pumping your body full of morphine. We're going to keep you on it during and after the surgery, we'll do everything we can to keep you out of pain."

"But you can you guarantee it? How can you know I won't feel pain?" The patient asked, his voice trembling.

"I don't" House responded, looking down.

The patient's hands ran heavily down his face as he looked up at the ceiling.

"The only thing I know for certain is that I'm not in pain now. That's all that matters to me. I'm not doing the surgery"

After a pause, House spoke. "If you don't sign the form, I will take you off the morphine and let you feel what dying is really like. The pain will come, and will only increase as blood fills your abdominal cavity. You'll be deciding to sit here and do nothing as you bleed to death in agony." He continued "If you don't do this—"

"No…"

The patient's hand left the railing and took forceful hold of House's sleeve as his fearful eyes met House's analytical ones. House drew back slightly, but the patient kept a firm grip.

"Please…no" he whimpered.

"I can't…no…please" his pleading eyes making House's turn away.

House freed himself from the patients grip "There is the risk of pain with surgery. There is the risk of pain with everything everyone does. Life is filled with pain." He gripped his right thigh. "I'm here to solve your case; I don't care if you want to die, my job is to solve this and fix it. If you don't do this, I can't keep working on the case and your death will be pointless."

House was slightly surprised to hear a humorless laugh come out of the patient's mouth.

"What do you think I am, some sort of puzzle? I'm pointless if I die and you don't get to solve my 'case'?"

House rolled his eyes. "Would you rather have me hold you hand and weep at your bedside as you bleed to death? That's useless. Does it really matter if I don't know what your life aspirations are; what your favorite wine is if you get to walk out of here?"

He popped a Vicodin; patience was leaving him.

"Sometimes we have to overcome our fear and take risks. Life is about taking risks. My job is to solve your case. I can't do my job if you don't take this risk and sign this consent form" He held out the clipboard. The patient ignored it.

"Yeah, it's easy taking risks when it doesn't involve you isn't it?"

"Yeah, you're right, this doesn't involve me" House answered as he popped another pill. The patient ignored him,

"What does it matter if they're in pain? They're just a 'case'. The way you keep taking that aspirin, you won't risk any pain, and yet you're forcing me to do it?"

"You idiot. This isn't about me. This is about you taking the risk to live. How hard can it be!? Sign the damn form!" House yelled. The patient continued to ignore him.

"This is all about you. It's all about your stupid case! Your doctors always talk about you when they're in my room. They talk about how you've been spending the last four days in your office, away from everyone. They are worried about you. They also keep complaining about what a jerk you are. You were a jerk to those concerned nurses who just left. You're a jerk towards me. You're too afraid to take risks with people. It's easier to stay away from everyone and treat them like crap. It's easier to treat them like 'cases'.

You're too afraid to take a stupid risk with the people who care about you, and you're asking me to risk my life!?

How can I take that risk when I know you don't care? How can I take that risk when you don't even know my name?"

There was a long pause.

House avoided the patient's eyes by looking at the ground.

"David. If you want to live, sign the form"

David looked up in mild surprise and seeing the suddenly vulnerable doctor, slowly took the clipboard and signed it.

Avoiding his eyes, House took it and limped out of the room.

"Kutner, increase the morphine dosage on the patient"

Soft, artificial light illuminated a white board filled with a jumble of circled and crossed out symptoms, terms and acronyms as a frustrated House rubbed his forehead against the handle of his cane for the fifth night in a row. He slowly looked up and again studied the latest additions to the puzzle,

_anemia _

_renal failure_

_pleurosis_

The spleen had been removed, but nothing had been solved. He once again crossed out every possibility in his mind, nothing fit. He gingerly got up and limped towards his desk. The rummaging in the drawers stopped as he found what he was looking for. After a moment's hesitation he took out a faded green folder. He opened it slowly and began to read through the contents. Almost immediately, he closed it with a scoff and let it drop on his desk, picking up his cane and walking out of his office.

He made his way towards the medical waste machine at the end of the hall. As he waited for his cup to fill, his eyes automatically swept the ground half expecting to find something, but the floor was clear tonight. He took a sip of the cheap coffee, and repented immediately. What he really needed was _food,_ he thought, as he threw away the cup and headed towards Wilson's office.

As he walked, his mind drifted once again to his conversation with the patient.

Why did they always feel this compulsion to get into his personal business? You'd think their possibly impending _deaths _would be enough to worry about….If they would just let him treat them. That's why they were here after all; that's why they had picked him. He has the sense to actually focus on the case and not waste time in useless formalities and attachments. Nevertheless, the image of the patient's determination and fiery eyes as he argued invaded his thoughts yet again. It kept distracting his mind from the important things. It kept distracting him from the case. Yet he could not push it out of his mind. There was a certain familiarity in that passionate, unyielding look, something just out of his grasp; some answer that eluded him.

Sensing an impending crash he stopped walking. Looking up from his thoughts, he was startled to find that his nose was just inches away from a door. Slightly crossing his eyes, he focused on the name plate directly across his face,

_Dr. Allison Cameron_

_Emergency Department _

Mouth slightly open, he took a step back and stood in front of the door for a moment. He bounced his cane on the ground a couple of times, scratched his stubble, and turned around.

What he really needed was a distraction, he thought, as he headed towards the lounge room. Maybe Wilson's mysteriously missing lunch from today was still safely hidden in the mysteriously misplaced brown paper bag labeled "_whole blood, type AB_" at the bottom of the vegetable drawer. Then he could sit on the couch for a couple of hours and clear his mind. Hopefully nobody had deleted his recording of the _Spongebob _marathon. As he walked in the dark and deserted hallway, he noticed a soft blue light emerging from underneath a door. As he drew closer he was annoyed to realize that it was coming from the lounge.

"_What idiot is watching TV at 3am?"_ he thought, annoyed. Too bad he needed to urgently examine a patient's colonoscopy footage on the big screen. _"That always gets them out of the room"_ he cunningly speculated as he stopped in front of the door. He found the handle in the semi-darkness and slowly turned it. The only visible thing was the couch in front of the TV, illuminated by the soft blue light it emitted. His mind had to take an extra second to grasp what his eyes were seeing. Asleep on the couch lay that familiar small figure that had been invading his thoughts for the past day. A long forgotten, mildly pleasurable pang in his stomach startled him as he drew a deep breath. He turned his gaze away, unsure. After a moment, he slowly turned and faced Cameron again, letting go of the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. All thoughts of _Spongebob_ forgotten, he was ready to turn back and have one more look at his white board, yet his body remained in the doorway, and his eyes remained on her.

Before he had any chance to analyze anything about the situation, his feet ignored his fear and started carrying him into the room. The pang in his stomach increased the closer he got, and before he realized what he was doing, he was standing in front of the couch. The TV caught his curiosity, and he reluctantly turned his head to find _The Phantom of the Opera _playing on mute_. _Forgetting to conceal his half smile at this discovery, his eyes once again turned to rest upon the sleeping figure.

There was something appealing about this image; something he had never seen in that familiar face. Something he wanted to see. Something he was afraid to see. A sudden compulsion seized him. He needed a closer look. He needed to get closer.

Before he realized what he was doing, he carefully knelt down in front of the couch. His eyes were now level with the sleeping form. They first rested upon her hands. The familiar image of those hands on the hips of an angry Cameron quickly flooded his mind. He now found them relaxed; softly draped across her thighs. He noticed the small bone protruding from her thin wrist, and the silken, blond hairs on her delicate forearm. His heart pounded louder as his gaze slowly started moving towards her face. Fear seized him. What would he find? What would he feel? Unable to stop himself, his face found Cameron's. There was that countenance he had seen transform over the years. A girlish face illuminated by naïve awe, a strong, determined face and fire in the eyes challenging his ethical views, a tear-streaked face, reflecting a deep hurt it had failed to conceal, a witty and confident face—undecipherable. This was a new face. Relaxed, simple, vulnerable. He looked away.

He found the remote sitting on the floor beside the couch and turned the TV off. In the sudden complete darkness, his ears became acute to the quiet, even breathing of Cameron, and his loud uneven one. He listened for a moment, sensing their breaths intertwine as they went in and out of sync. He could not stop himself. His cold, sweaty hand tentatively reached out into the darkness and found her warm forearm. A deep breath issued out of Cameron.

With a shock of fear, his mind realized the strange situation he was in. He found his cane on the ground, and used it to hoist himself up. The pain in his thigh from kneeling on the ground quickly became apparent as he limped out of the room. He did not look back.


End file.
